


Ever At His Side

by greygerbil



Category: Original Work
Genre: 15th Century Ruritania, First Time, Gentle Sex, M/M, literal decades of mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-25 01:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17715437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Sir Asoza has for more than two decades been a good friend and trusted knight to the ruler of Athelney; he has been in love with him almost as long. When it seems like the pressure at court is getting to King Lyndon, Sir Asoza proposes a small stay at his own keep to get away from politics for a bit. In their shared solitude, however, their feelings suddenly become hard to ignore.





	Ever At His Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/gifts).



> Hello there! I saw your prompts for this couple and thought it'd be really fun to write a treat based on them. I hope you like what I made of it!

Asoza did not remember when he had spoken to the king for the first time. Though he was a servant’s son and Lyndon heir to the throne, they had both spent most of their childhoods in Oldstone Keep, the massive stronghold hewn into the side of the Grey Mountains, towering above the capital city of Culcaster. Surely Lyndon must have said a word of thanks here or there while Asoza was serving food, or simply greeted him as they passed each other in the labyrinth of hallways of the old castle some time. In the end, Asoza supposed it mattered little; the moment he remembered and that had written Lyndon’s name into his soul was when he had been dragged before him by the castle guards, the day when the message arrived that his erstwhile home country had declared war on Athelney.

Lyndon, crowned a couple of months ago after his mother’s death, a king at sixteen, barely a year older than Asoza, had sat dwarfed by the massive throne with its eagle wings of dark, polished wood. The crown, all sharp silver spikes and cold white diamonds, looked too big for his head. Asoza still remembered how his heart had raced like a rabbit’s, and how his hand on the ground had been shaking as he knelt. Lyndon had regarded him out of eyes green as the forest in summer.

“This is Asoza Ilefemi,” the captain of the guard had told the king.

“Why did you bring him here?” Lyndon had asked Old Ethelwulf.

“He’s from the Kingdom of Utaya,” he had answered him. “He came with his mother years ago – she worked in your kitchens, but she has been dead some time. There’s no saying who he holds contact with back home. The boy could turn spy or assassin.” He had pointed his finger at Asoza. “He is training to be a knight under the castle’s master-at-arms, who found him to be swift and strong. He was supposed to enter my ranks. I know he has the skill to hurt you.”

The pride Asoza had felt at being chosen among the servant boys had turned to bitter ash in his mouth then.

“But do we know he attempted to hurt me or talk to anyone in Utaya?” Lyndon had asked, in that quiet but clear and certain voice he had kept through all the years.

“No. It would just be a precaution to put him in the dungeons,” Old Ethelwulf had admitted.

“With all due respect, Sir Ethelwulf, I know I am young, but that seems like an unwise precaution to me. Surely the best way to bring people who mean me ill to my court would be by punishing innocents for crimes they have not committed.”

Lyndon had turned his eyes back to Asoza. “My people are trying to protect me fiercely,” he had said, “for my Queen Mother, gods keep her, was slain by that mercenary from Marcia just recently. But as far as it seems to me, you have little to do with that _or_ the troubles at our southern sea border. Let me apologise. You are of course to return to your duties undisturbed, Asoza.”

“Your Highness,” Old Ethelwulf had protested. “Don’t you this is a risk? I advise you against this.”

“I appreciate your advice and your concern, Sir Ethelwulf, I do. But I’m the king,” Lyndon had said.

That last was a sentence that Asoza should come to know well. It was usually accompanied by a hint of a smile, as if Lyndon himself thought it was a bit ridiculous that he could ignore and override the protests of a hundred learned and experienced people if he thought it was prudent. It had, sometimes, even been turned against Asoza. He never failed to be impressed with the enormity of the decisions Lyndon would feel comfortable taking responsibility for. His king bore the weight of the crown with more grace than any other ruler Asoza had met in his duties at court, and they had been manifold.

But back then, people had not known about Lyndon’s strength yet, had thought the small, slight, soft-voiced young man with the bright smiles easily directed. His coronation had likely been the reason Utaya had even dared to test the borders, everyone knew that, including Asoza. He had felt very sheepish, then, for believing court gossip as he had left the throne room that day, and infinitely grateful that people were wrong about Lyndon.

That evening, the king had appeared by the side of the training grounds in the inner courtyard. Asoza had only noticed him after a moment, so unimposing he was, short and clothed in a black tunic, leaning against the wooden fence.

“Asoza, was your father a knight?” he had asked.

Asoza had shaken his head. There had been some bastards among the knights the master-at-arms had trained alongside him, but he was not one of them. His father had been a dock worker back in Utaya, but he had died of a sickness when Asoza was still in the womb.

“You must be very good, then. I know how hard Sir Roland is on his charges. In fact, I think he has quite given up on making me hold a longsword.”

Asoza had laughed reflexively and regretted it, but Lyndon had smiled.

“Would you mind teaching me?”

Uncomprehending, Asoza had stared at him, lowering his wooden training weapon. “I’m sure all the young lords and ladies would be happy to help you out, Your Highness.”

“All the young lords and ladies would report back to their parents about how bad I am,” Lyndon had answered. “Besides, a lot of them only train with the sword _because_ they are young lords and ladies – just like me. And I’m not very good. I’d rather learn from someone like you.”

So they had stolen into a private corner of the castle, an empty, unused room in the northern wing. The first time Asoza had sent Lyndon sprawling with a well-placed blow to the chest, he had felt the fear of death in him, but the king had simply shaken his head like a dazed dog, heaved a sigh, and collected his wooden sword again with a regretful smile.

Asoza had not taught him much that night, to be quite honest, for Lyndon had been uncoordinated and unsure in his footwork and had no eye at all for the flow of battle. Asoza had apologised after collecting him from the ground a final time.

“I doubt I will learn in one evening what I have failed to grasp in the last ten years,” Lyndon had assured him. “But I also doubt I will ever be a shining knight like my Queen Mother. I just want to be able to stay alive in a battle.”

“Then you should take some guards,” Asoza had told him flatly and immediately cursed his big mouth for giving such lip to his king.

Lyndon had looked at him for a long moment before he had laughed, quietly and honestly.

-

So this was how Asoza had first met the king, and while the conflict with Utaya was settled through diplomacy quite quickly, half a year after their first sparring session, Lyndon had had to ride against Marcia. He had taken his mother’s well-furnished army of experienced knights and a Kingsguard, again mostly made up of his mother’s retainers – and Asoza, who had been gifted a horse and armour for the purpose and a wide smile by the king as Asoza thanked him, flabbergasted.

Asoza had earned his accolades at the Battle of the Briarwoods three months into the war, where he had been knighted by the king right there in camp as they were still counting prisoners. Asoza had convinced Lord Casley to take his troops and pull them back through the woods and into the flank of the enemy, who had been caught completely off guard by the manoeuvre. It had seemed the greatest honour, but then Lyndon had lifted his sword off Asoza’s shoulder and turned it back to him with the hilt first. This was a weapon with so much blood on it that it had earned a name – Peacekeeper, the sword Lyndon’s mother had used in half a dozen wars, razor sharp, as perfectly balanced as it could be, with a grip of metal that seemed to mould itself to one’s fingers.

“I have known you long enough to say you will make better use of it than me,” Lyndon had told him.

Now, near twenty-five years later, Peacekeeper still sat at Asoza’s hip as he stood by the head of the Long Table around which the council sat, right at the side of Lyndon’s high chair. As his hand gripped the pommel, his thoughts drifted back to that night when he had first held it, Lyndon’s smile and the way the fire-light had left his rust-red hair gleaming and turned the green of his eyes as reflective as polished emeralds. Lyndon had never grown much, still a short man with a slight built, but he wore the crown with more confidence these days. His beard was short-cropped and still without flecks of grey, and though his fortieth birthday had been some months ago, his hair was still full falling onto his shoulders. The freckles on his cheeks were as charming as the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth when he smiled, but he smiled much less these days than he had in his youth, often thoughtful and stern as he sat over the affairs of the kingdom. Even now his forehead was creased with a frown, but then, he was currently having to listen to ancient Lord Walton Rynevale, who could make everything sound like a lecture read from a dusty genealogy book. Asoza took a quiet breath and focused in on the man’s monotone voice, habitually ignoring the way he refused to ever meet Asoza’s eyes.

“What do you think about the buccaneers Lord Rynevale is so partial to, Sir Asoza?” Lyndon asked, looking over his shoulder at him, when the council had left.

Asoza sat down at the edge of the Long Table.

“I think if you’re trying to protect the trading routes to the Alman Islands, you’ll be better served not to send pirates after pirates, otherwise all you’ll end up with is more pirates, Your Highness.”

Lyndon made a small humming sound of agreement.

“We do not lack the gold to furnish more war ships, but people with enough experience to fight on the high seas. Perhaps we could hire from Utaya or Fasiwi. They have always traded across the Crystal Ocean.”

With a snort, Asoza crossed his arms over his chest.

“I can promise you Lord Rynevale will not like that idea,” he said.

Lord Rynevale, and many others of his more traditional persuasion, barely managed to accept that Asoza was always by the king’s side, despite the fact that it had been this way for a quarter of a century now. While he was not the only man from down south who lived here, not even the only knight, they would rather have seen Lyndon with someone fair-haired and of high birth (and connected to their respective family, obviously), not a dark-skinned man with an accent and tattoos that reached up even to his face and bald head. When he was younger, Asoza had sometimes feared for his position because of these people, but after a lifetime of watching Lyndon squashing every direct objection and playing deaf and blind to every polite gentle nudge anyone was trying to give him in regards to Asoza, he knew he needn’t have worried. Lyndon cared not for the colour of his skin or how noble his roots were, or that he had some customs that differed from those of the people native to this land. Still, it could get tedious to deal with the Lord Rynevales of the world sometimes.

Lyndon looked across the length of the Long Table and played with his sigil ring on his finger, where the sparrow of Lord Brightford, the house he stemmed from, was etched into gold.

“I will have to find some way to outvote Lord Rynevale soundly so he won’t dare to throw a fit about it, but still, you are right about the buccaneers. I would prefer avoiding such people in my employ.”

“Well, the way I reckon, Your Highness, Lord Rynevale has not ever liked _anything_ you have done since they put that crown on your head, so you will weather this storm also,” Asoza said.

Lyndon chuckled and Asoza felt his heart warm at the soft sound.

“You are right as always,” Lyndon answered, rising from his chair.

He had always tended towards plain clothes, at least for his status. Today, he wore a wine-red tunic with small patterns of well-worked golden trimming. Despite the comparative simplicity of the garment, it was cut to fit him well and belted tightly around his slim waist, and as usual, Asoza spent a second too long looking at him as he moved around the room. However, in this, he also noticed a slight, uncommon drag in Lyndon’s step, a slouch of his shoulders, the way he rubbed his forehead with his knuckles.

“Are you feeling alright, Your Highness?”

“Yes,” Lyndon said absent-mindedly, “of course.”

When Asoza didn’t answer, indicating he would not take such dodges from Lyndon, he lifted his eyes to look at Asoza and give a reassuring smile.

“It has been a long week,” he admitted.

“It has been a long winter,” Asoza conceded.

With a plague in the Westerlands, uprisings of the fanatics of the Cult of the Death God Kathra in neighbouring Marcia threatening to spill over, and a fire in Halewood that had almost eaten the largest haven city of the country in one night, they had had their work cut out for them. Besides, the court was full to bursting of courtiers this time of year, when the young sons and daughters of noble families spent their days down in the cold but sunny capital city, away from the windy planes and snowy mountains up north.

There was nothing to be done, of course. The king was his kingdom’s as the kingdom was the king’s, body and flesh, Lyndon always said, as had his Queen Mother before him. Still, he was not actually built of bones of stone and meat of earth, and any living man needed a moment to breathe sometimes, did they not? Asoza considered himself the man who could give such advice were no one else dared.

“Are you absolutely needed at court for tomorrow?” he asked. “You won’t grant audiences until Friday, if I remember right?”

“I have no plans to meet anyone, if that is what you mean, but there is enough to do. Why do you ask?”

“It seems to me you could use some time away from Oldstone Keep. You needn’t always stay put here like the statues. Other rulers spend half the year in their hunting lodges.”

“Even if I had the time, you know I am at much risk of injuring my companions as I am of hitting a stag, Sir Asoza,” Lyndon said in a playfully admonishing tone.

Asoza grinned.

“Then come to Linleigh Hall with me. There’s only orchards there for woods and at least you could work without being disturbed.”

Lyndon hesitated. “I haven’t been to Linleigh Hall in a while,” he said, almost wistfully.

“It’s been much too long,” Asoza agreed.

Of course, one could argue that he was not in Linleigh Hall enough, either, seeing as the place belonged to him, but was inhabited most of the year by only a handful of servants. Where Lyndon went, Asoza was, too, and so the visits to his property were never long, even though it was only a three hours’ ride from Oldstone Keep; but he did not like being separated from his king. A pity, really, since Linleigh Hall was a pretty little castle. It had a hot spring close-by and when you came there as the orchard stood in bloom and looked down on it from the mountain pass, it seemed like the whole hollow in which it stood was covered in white and pink clouds, earning it the nickname Blooming Valley. The lands of Ashencombe belonging to Linleigh Hall were copious and fertile and made quite a bit of gold in taxes without requiring Asoza to pay much attention to them. However, even when he thought of himself as an old man, he could only imagine idling away his time walking through the rambling orchards and green hills beyond if Lyndon was at his side.

“There are some letters I could take and… I would certainly enjoy a few days in just your company.”

“Well, then. Should we ride this afternoon?”

Asoza had been around Lyndon for long enough to know that a decision made like this, with more heart than head, was likely to be overruled by Lyndon himself if he was left too long to ponder it.

“Yes. I’ll leave a message with the steward, get my belongings, and meet you at the stables. If we wait any time at all, someone will get wind of it and insist I take at least five more knights,” he said, with a shake of his head.

“One guard is little for a king,” Asoza was forced to admit, against his wishes. He did want the king for himself, for they’d had barely time to talk lately, but Lyndon’s safety was more important than his own whims.

“It’s not if the guard is you,” Lyndon decided. “When have you not kept me safe, Sir Asoza?”

Before Asoza had even a chance to disagree, Lyndon had left the room.

-

By the time their horses were trotting down the winding way through the hills that led into the Blooming Valley, the sun had almost sunk behind the shadows of the mountains and night fell with a thousand stars. Spring only came slowly as the last snow hadn’t stopped falling in the cold nights, but as they passed abreast on a slim paved road between the naked trees, Asoza saw small green buds on the dark branches in the last light of day.

“It’d have been prettier in a few week’s time,” he noted.

“I quite like it now, too. It’s so peaceful and secluded.”

Asoza could see why Lyndon would value it for that. In Culcaster, the king could not step outside the castle without being recognised, of course, and so he could never leave on his own. Even Asoza, as the foremost Kingsguard, was aware every commoner in the city knew his name and face. It was freeing at times to be alone, but it was better, of course, to be alone with Lyndon.

At Linleigh Hall, they were greeted by Asoza’s head servant Willa, a stick-thin woman with a hard-cut face and impish smile. She led them through the small courtyard which was half taken over by a kitchen garden.

“We did not expect you tonight, my Lord, or His Royal Highness... perhaps a letter got lost?”

“It was a rash decision,” Asoza said. “Please prepare two rooms and have supper and mulled wine brought up to the small hall.”

The small hall was really not much of a hall at all, but a room in which to entertain private guests. A table stood in the middle surrounded by chairs, but Asoza led the way to the back, where a long wooden bench was covered in thick blankets and pillows. He sank down on it and Lyndon took his place at the other side with a quiet exhale of breath. He had thrown on simple riding clothes for travel, leather trousers with a short, featureless shirt and a long mantle. Asoza had often heard people say that he had a common look and he supposed it was true, once you took off the crown, that his soft green eyes, worn-out freckled face, hair that always seemed just a little dishevelled, and small stature did not seem very lordly. His Queen Mother had had a face as if carved from marble, with raven-dark hair and long, strong limbs, but Lyndon took after his father. Still, Asoza loved to look at him no less here than he did when Lyndon sat on the throne projecting the full authority of his station.

As they sat in amicable, exhausted silence, Willa’s son, the stable boy carried in two beakers that steamed and smelled of burned alcohol and spices. Asoza nodded at him and took the beakers, handing one to Lyndon after he had dismissed the child.

The wine was strong and tasted of laurels and cinnamon, chasing away the cold that had settled in Asoza’s bones as they rode against the wind. It was strong, but he didn’t mind right now. He had no one to impress here. He hoped Lyndon felt the same ease as he was sipping his wine.

“Do you want something else to drink?”

“No, this is perfect. Excuse my taciturnity. I am still preoccupied with Lord Rynevale.”

“Care to share your thoughts?”

“They are not quite worthy of a king.” Lyndon shook his head. “When do you suppose he will do me the favour and finally retire to Silverrun Castle so his small-minded malice will at least be directed only at his own servants and family? Not that I won’t pity them...”

Asoza knocked back another mouthful of wine. Lord Rynevale had gold mines and wide lands and as little as he liked him, either, everyone was aware the Rynevales were not to be trifled with, even by the king; Lord Rynevale knew it best of all.

“You know as well as me he won’t leave a day earlier until he falls dead off that council chair, Your Highness.”

Lyndon leaned his head against the backrest of the wooden bench and laughed quietly. It was a breathy and rough sound and entirely earnest and Asoza couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Oh gods, that is exactly how it will be.”

“Turn tyrant. Abolish the council and listen to no one,” Asoza suggested, still laughing. “You are the king, after all.”

Lyndon chuckled at having his own favourite sentence repeated back at him.

“The temptation is there. But I have not the heart for a man lonely at the top. At least I would need to have you as leader of my armies and iron fist.”

Humour made Lyndon’s eyes brighter as he looked over at Asoza, who tried to keep his heart from jumping. A man who counted almost forty summers, and yet sometimes he felt no different than a silly boy in love, he scolded himself.

“I would be your enforcer as you rule and your last knight if you were overthrown,” he said, and, listening to his own voice, quickly tried to soften the raw honesty in it with a grin.

“Well, then I fear I must stay decent and bear Lord Rynevale at my table, for I would not put an honourable man like you through such hardships, Sir Asoza,” Lyndon said into his cup after looking at him for a long moment.

Had he pushed it a bit too far? Lyndon seemed only in thoughts, not displeased, but then, his expression hid much sometimes.

“I better look where our supper is,” he said, though they had barely waited ten minutes, to give himself a moment away from the king, which would hopefully prevent him from saying any more foolish things.

In the kitchen, Willa was arranging rough slices of rye bread, chunks of ripe cheese and thick cuts of cold roast onto a plate. She eyed him with surprise when he opened the door.

“The king is quite hungry,” Asoza lied, as he took the plate from her.

Tarrying a little on the stairs, Asoza had enough time to curse himself for his carelessness before he entered the small hall once more. However, even if he had tried to explain himself, Lyndon was in no position to receive those excuses. He laid fast asleep in a corner of the bench, the beaker precariously balanced on his leg, held by limp hands.

Asoza put down the plate and gently pulled the drink from his king’s fingers, which gave little resistance. The movement did not wake him. Considering Lyndon thought much of politeness, it really spoke for how tired he had to be that he would fall asleep in someone’s sitting room. Despite the concern that pushed on him, though, Asoza was a little flattered that it had happened here of all places. He could all but guarantee that Lyndon would never have allowed himself such a lapse in anyone else’s home.

Asoza left him sitting there while he finished his drink and watched his chest rise and fall in a steady, strong rhythm. He had long known he saw men and women alike, but it had been some years after he was knighted until Asoza had truly recognised the special place Lyndon held above all others in his mind. It was a one-sided and doomed affection, but he was fine with even that, he told himself, would have to be. After all, Lyndon already had made all the room in his heart for him that a man could ask for, favouring him above all others in his life, and he did not even have affairs or a spouse to rise Asoza’s unfounded, unjust jealousy. One could hardly ask for more in the position Asoza was in, even if as of late he had found himself frustrated more easily than in his youth, when he had still been able to distract himself from these feelings with other lovers, a talent he’d lost along the way.

When he had finished his wine, he picked up some bread and roast just to give himself a little more time to watch the king in his peaceful sleep. It would be a shame to wake him up, really, if he was so exhausted. Even after Asoza had finished his food, he needed a moment to convince himself to shake his shoulder. That, however, did not get much of a response. Though Lyndon’s eyes fluttered open briefly, a slight frown on his face, he let them drift close again when he saw Asoza, the lines in his face smoothing over.

He could have simply left him here, but they weren’t boys anymore and Asoza knew what sleeping halfway sitting up did to his own back. If the king could not be convinced to move, then he simply would be moved, he decided, with perhaps a touch of help from the drink in his blood. He was his guard, was he not? Carefully, he pushed his arms around the shoulders and under the knees of Lyndon’s sleeping form, hoisting him up. Lyndon’s head lolled against his chest, body lying warm and sleep-heavy in Asoza’s arms, yet easy enough to handle for a knight in fighting shape like him. It was only a few steps down the hallway to the chamber designated for guests. Asoza kicked the door open and settled the king gently down on the bed. After pulling his boots off and covering him with a blanket, he left him to his dreams.

-

“I’m terribly sorry, Sir Asoza.”

Lyndon was all contriteness sitting at the table with Asoza the next morning, breaking fast with some white bread, milk, butter and honey. He also still looked a little sleepy, though he had obviously done his best to be presentable, his hair brushed and dressed in a new, deep green tunic that matched his eyes.

“You were exhausted, Your Highness. It’s why we came here, isn’t it?”

“Still, you could have woken me. No need to break your back carrying me around your keep,” Lyndon said, sipping his milk.

“If you think that lugging around one man for a few steps would be the end of me, then I wonder why you still let me fight!” Asoza said and laughed.

Lyndon smiled with him. “You might be right,” he allowed. “Still, thank you for your hospitality in that regard, it was more than should be expected.”

Asoza shook his head. “You are my king, after all,” he said. “And since you seem to be in need of some peace and quiet, perhaps you would like to join me in the hot springs later today? They do work wonders for tired bones.”

“I have a few letters to write first, but I would be glad. I have heard about them from the previous owner of these lands at times, old Lord William Grendon, but I have never experienced them for myself.”

While Lyndon tended to his duties, Asoza busied himself with the upkeep of the castle. Willa was eager to show him around to prove she had taken excellent care of everything, which he would have believed sight unseen, having known her for years now; but having worked a similar job to hers as a child, he also understood that it was nice to have the people who employed you acknowledge you were performing well.

Lyndon emerged around early noon from his room and Asoza led him out the gates through the trees and high grass. It was a warm day for the season and they walked slowly side by side, enjoying the sun on their faces and speaking of harmless court gossip, the odds and ends that didn’t move armies and people and one’s mind unduly, petty feuds and sordid affairs. As the trees parted, Lyndon stopped to admire the spring, which steamed in the fresh air, surrounded by a low ring of rocks and some weather-worn statues of merpeople that a former owner had left there and which now looked out over the warm water.

“What a beautiful spot! But will it be alright for us to take our clothes off here? No one is going to come by?” Lyndon asked, looking around.

“The roads the farmers use is miles off,” Asoza assured him. “And there’s nothing to harvest yet, so no one will be likely to look at the trees.”

Lyndon nodded his head and took hold of the clasp that held his cloak. Before pulling it open, however, he stopped, giving Asoza an odd look, and finally laughed.

“What is it, Your Highness?”

“Nothing. I just realised this will be my first time undressing in front of anyone since I was a child not old enough to struggle into my own clothes,” he said. “How strange.”

Asoza held his breath for a beat. Lyndon was talking freely, perhaps spurred on by their solitude and companionship. Asoza had suspected what his words implied already, and so had most of the court, since Lyndon’s apparent total disinterest in taking anyone to bed had always been fodder for much talk among the people there. Still, Asoza had never had been impertinent enough to ask directly until now.

“You denied your lovers the pleasure?” he prodded, carefully.

Lyndon shook his head, opening the clasp to let the cloak fall off his shoulders.

“Don’t you think you would have known if I’d had lovers, Sir Asoza?” Lyndon asked, amused. “I daresay I would have told you, if only so you could make sure I had not picked an assassin.”

Asoza removed his own belt and tunic and knew that he should have left it at that, but the curiosity was too strong.

“So there really was no one?”

“If I had mind to do it, I could still pray to Raha for guidance, if that is what you mean,” Lyndon said, delicately.

The goddess was the protector of virgins. It was as clear a statement as could be.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, as he took off his breeches.

“Why so?”

“Come now, Your Highness. You don’t think so lowly of yourself, surely? I know a dozen ladies at court in love with you, and half a handful of courtiers, too.”

He heard the splash of water behind himself. Turning, he saw that Lyndon had entered the springs. Water covered him to the navel, but Asoza was granted the sight of his lean upper body, a dust of dark reddish hair on his chest and arms. Gods, what wouldn’t he give to tear that man from Raha’s gaze himself…

“I have a kingdom to run, Sir Asoza, and I daresay my oldest niece would have half a right to start a war if after all these years of promising her the crown, I suddenly produced a child of my own, bastard or not, who could lay claim on it as well. I wouldn’t take the risk. Better to keep the country stable and the crown in the hands of a young woman who by all accounts seems very suited to wear it.” He shook his head. “Besides, I… I would have to want to give someone my full attention, and I don’t think I could, nor was I perhaps able to do so for a long time now. Ah, on account of the kingdom, of course.”

“That I understand,” Asoza said gravely, following him into the spring.

Not because of a kingdom, but because of the king, in his case. He had loved men and he had loved women; he had loved none of them as much as Lyndon, and so he had left them all eventually.

Smiling, Lyndon watched him descend into the water. There was a bench of stacked stones under water by the edge of the spring and they sat down on it. The warmth enveloped Asoza while a fresh wind blew over their heads and shoulders.

“May I ask, then, Sir Asoza, why you never got married?” Lyndon asked. “Or at least took a permanent lover, barring that be possible?”

Lyndon had long known about Asoza’s desire being for men and women and had never seemed to think it wrong. He should not, of course, know why Asoza had chosen to remain alone, and yet, lying to his king’s face seemed like such an ill thing to do that Asoza decided to rather skirt the truth.

“I enjoy my life as it is, Your Highness. You know I’ve had lovers, but my duty is to you first and that’s a good thing. I don’t feel like I am missing out on anything.”

Lyndon looked at him for a moment before turning his eyes skyward. The heat of the water had gotten to him; he was quite red in the face.

“Every king should be so lucky to have a knight like you at court, Sir Asoza.”

“Worthy knights come to worthy kings,” Asoza answered.

Lyndon smiled to himself and shook his head, brushing aside his open hair and revealing the naked nape of his neck with the movement. If Asoza had been a more churlish man than he was, he could have taken a lot of pleasure in tracking every twinge and movement of Lyndon’s naked body, but he tried mostly to keep his eyes on the water. In an attempt to distract himself, he pushed back one of the stones that circled the banks of the hot spring and seemed likely to plunge in soon, wincing as the muscles in his shoulder spasmed for the movement.

“Does the injury from the Battle at Newhaven still cause you pain?” Lyndon asked.

“Well – we’re not getting younger, are we, Your Highness?” Asoza said with a lopsided smile. “It’s mostly healed up, but the muscles grow sore easily. The hot springs should help with that, at least.”

Lyndon made a small noise of sympathy.

“When I wrenched my knee last summer and my leg hurt from limping, our physician would treat the muscles with his hands. It helped a little. If you want to, I could try to do the same for you?”

The offer was entirely unbefitting of a king, yet from a friend of many years, which Lyndon also was, it was not too surprising. Asoza was very sure that he should refuse his king, anyway. Only a fool would tempt himself – but when it came to Lyndon, Asoza’s mind was often lame and fogged.

“I’m fine, but if it doesn’t bother you…”

“Not at all. Come, sit with your back to me.”

Asoza did and suppressed a shiver when Lyndon’s hands touched his skin. He rested them there for just a second before he started moving them over his shoulder and down his biceps, up to his neck and back to his shoulder blade. The pressure was steady and firm and though it was not quite the practiced grip of a physician, Lyndon had obviously paid attention back when he himself had been treated, for his hands worked the knots and tension out of Asoza’s muscles quite expertly.

Lyndon’s hand moved downwards, over muscles that had gotten stiff and hard for having to compensate Asoza putting more strain on them to avoid the injury. His eyes half-closed, Asoza found himself drifting, the pleasure of Lyndon’s touch only heightened by one hand now placed on Asoza’s other shoulder, his king holding on firmly to give himself leverage.

It was when he shifted into Lyndon’s touch that he realised that he had grown hard. Though his cock was somewhat hidden by the water, the discovery gave him such a cold fright that, without thinking, he shot around and grabbed Lyndon’s wrist, holding it as tight as he could to stop his hand from moving.

Lyndon stared at him wide-eyed. Before Asoza had the presence of mind to say something to explain his reaction, some quick lie to smooth things over, Lyndon backed off. 

“I’m sorry,” Lyndon said, though Asoza had no idea why.

“No, it wasn’t your fault, I just-”

Asoza blanked just long enough for an excuse that it wouldn’t have seemed natural to tack on anymore. He let go off Lyndon’s hand.

His ears red, Lyndon turned his head away. He pushed himself up on the bank of the hot spring.

“Ah, I still have some work to do. I should get to that. We wouldn’t want my advisors to be cross with me when I return to the castle,” he said with a forced smile.

They had barely been here any time at all, but it was not like Lyndon was otherwise pretending very well that this wasn’t an escape. Asoza could hardly blame him for it, though, and would not have been angry if Lyndon had shown his shock much more clearly. He must have noticed Asoza’s arousal, or perhaps at least guessed it from how he’d reacted. He could see a red mark around Lyndon’s wrist before he covered it with the sleeve of his tunic, and considering how firmly he’d held him, that might turn into a bruise. Asoza had not felt so bad about anything in years, even though it was hardly a grievous injury.

Once Lyndon had made his start on the path back, Asoza jumped out of the spring himself and quickly pulled on his clothes. He would not let Lyndon out of his sight, since he was the only guard he had chosen to take here. His own stupidity would not lead to the king potentially getting killed, at the very least.

But the way back was quiet and uneventful, and so Asoza’s steps rustled audibly behind Lyndon’s in the grass as the only noise but the chirping of a few birds in the trees. His king did not look over his shoulder once, and he vanished out of the light of the spring day into the darkness of the castle, and there was lost. Asoza did not attempt to follow him to his room.

-

Asoza had spent the better part of the day pacing his keep until the servants had started to give him odd looks and he felt forced to flee into his room and run in circles there. It was not that Lyndon and him had never disagreed or grown impatient with each other before. They had argued and at times even fought. However, they had never parted like this, on tight silence and a bad lie.

Though Lyndon had known of Asoza’s capacity to love men as most men only loved women, it would be much different to grow aware this affected him personally. Anyone would have been troubled to have misjudged a friendship so greatly. Perhaps Lyndon was now going back through those moments of their acquaintance when they had drawn up to the border of something more intimate, wondering if Asoza had seen them differently than he had; and likely he would be right. Gods, he hated this. Yes, Asoza loved the man, but to lose him as a friend over that had never been worth the cost.

He was leafing through a book without reading when, as the sun sank behind the hills surrounding the Blooming Valley, there was a knock at the door. The sound was so quiet and tentative that Asoza expected the stable boy to stand there when he bid the person enter, but instead, it was Lyndon.

“May we have a word in private, Sir Asoza?” he asked.

“The king doesn’t have to ask that,” Asoza said, almost jumping to his feet.

“The king does, anyway,” Lyndon answered. “I presume not to have your time freely at my command at all hours of the day.”

“You do,” Asoza just answered.

With a slim smile, Lyndon pushed the door shut behind himself. “You’ve always been too kind to me. Well… I won’t make this too long, anyway. I just came here to apologise.”

Asoza looked at him in surprise, unsure how to react to this. His silence seemed to confuse Lyndon, but he pressed on regardless after a moment’s hesitation.

“I really was trying to help you, but if you felt that I overstepped, I cannot blame you.” Lyndon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Since you have an interest in men, I’m sure it must have been long obvious to you that I am very fond of you. Perhaps some of that came through today, even if I tried to avoid it. You can be sure that I make no demands on you, Sir. I would feel awful if you felt the need to bend to my will just because I’m the king.”

Never in his life had Asoza felt so stumped for an answer as he did now, reeling to put the strands of reality back in proper order. Lyndon looked at him in quite obviously anxious expectation of an answer. When it didn’t come, he lowered his head.

“Very well. You don’t have to speak to me right now. This keep is a beautiful place. Should you want to spend more time here than at court in the future, I would understand…”

It was, among the words, the deep sadness in Lyndon’s voice that finally shook Asoza awake. He stepped forward towards Lyndon, right into his space, and when he looked up he took his face in his hands and kissed him.

Lyndon took less time to catch up than Asoza had, frozen for just a second before he leaned into the kiss when Asoza wrapped his arms around him. Happiness flooded him like the bright sun a darkened room and he hauled Lyndon up into his arms so he did not have to stoop. Lyndon put his arms around his neck. There was little skill in the way he kissed, hesitantly nipping at Asoza’s lips and only slowly opening up for his tongue, but it was all the sweeter for it reminded Asoza that Lyndon was only for him, and while such a thing had never mattered to him before, his possessiveness of this one man was greater than he’d admit.

“Alright, you may put me down now, Sir…”

Lyndon was laughing his words into Asoza’s mouth as they parted.

“I don’t think I really care to,” Asoza said, unable to keep the grin off his face. Nevertheless, he did release Lyndon, carefully placing him back on his feet, yet not letting go. Similarly, Lyndon’s arms seemed locked around his neck, even as he had to reach up now.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “If you wanted this, then why did you twist my wrist in the spring?”

Asoza raised a brow.

“Because not all men are as close to Raha as you are, Your Highness. Your hands were giving me quite a bit of trouble by trying to release it. I lost my head.”

For a moment, Lyndon chewed on this statement with a frown, before his mouth opened briefly in soundless understanding.

“I’m sorry, I was not trying to do that, so much I can honestly say. Though the fact that I seem to have the power might perhaps prove helpful in the future…”

“Your words are quite tempting, too,” Asoza informed him, smiling. “But I am the one who should be sorry. Show me your wrist.”

“It’s just a small bruise,” Lyndon said, lowering his hand a little so that it rested against Asoza’s shoulder, where a sideways glance showed him the fresh blue finger-shaped marks impressed into Lyndon’s flesh. “You used to give me much worse when you helped me practice sword fighting.”

Asoza turned his head to kiss Lyndon’s wrist, a smile on his lips.

“You were young then. We shouldn’t play as rough as spring chicken now.”

Lyndon laughed quietly, forehead leaned against his chest.

“How very charming of you. Perhaps I should remind you I’m not all the way an old man. Apparently, you found me enticing enough that I put you into a compromising position, after all.”

Asoza wanted to follow up on the joke, but with his heart still singing, he could not fall so far into levity.

“You were always handsome, but you grew more so with every year. Sometimes it felt like a demon’s ploy to torture me, to be true, since I was already hopelessly besotted,” he said. “If I had less reason to call on, I would be taking you to my bed right now, so there is no need for you to worry about your effect on me.”

Lyndon lifted his head to glance up at him with that thoughtful but slightly cunning look that Asoza knew from him when he was about to propose some deal or scheme at the Long Table.

“What is stopping you from taking me to the bed, Sir Asoza?” he asked. “We have some time for ourselves here, for once, and I think we have waited long enough.”

“There must be a reason other than succession lines that you never had a lover,” Asoza said, slowly. Especially since that was hardly an issue if Lyndon fancied men. If he had other fears or a general disinclination, he wouldn’t want to push him.

Lyndon’s smile softened.

“I had no lover because every person I would have courted I would have had to lie to, for my heart was already taken, and as the years drew on I felt that it was unlikely it would ever be released. I did think about it, mind, but in the end, you were already always by my side, so the need to find someone else never quite took hold in me. In you, I had a knight as loyal as any king could want, and a friend as true as any man can hope for, and if I missed out on kissing and carnal pleasures, it seemed a small price.”

It was absurd to think that after all the nights Asoza had spent feeling guilty for his fantasies of taking the king’s presumed innocence, he should be the very reason that it had remained intact for so long.

Because no answer seemed sufficient to encompass what he felt, Asoza simply picked his king up again and carried him over to the bed. It sank under their weight as Lyndon distracted him with a kiss and they collapsed onto it together. Words seemed suddenly at a complete end as Lyndon was tugging him close, his legs ending up tangled with Asoza’s, squeezing his thigh between his own, hand dripping beneath the collar of his shirt to his naked back.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I am clumsy. Now I wish I had gotten a little practice to impress where it counts so I could stand up to those you have had before…”

If there was a smile on his face, it was to mask a disquiet Asoza found in his voice.

“As you said, was I not of old your sparring partner? I was quite proud you’d chosen me to see you when you were not at your best, and I am again. Just not of the implication that something so unimportant could turn me away.”

Lyndon gave a fond smile.

“Let’s just hope I show more aptitude for this than I did for swordplay, shall we, Sir Asoza?”

Asoza smiled as he undid the belt around Lyndon’s middle. He allowed him to sit up to strip his tunic and got rid of his own clothes at the chance. They had already seen each other naked today, but now that he was not being careful not to let his own gaze stray, he saw how interested Lyndon looked as he surveyed Asoza’s body.

From a trunk at the bottom of the bed, Asoza picked out a small, round bottle of oil. He would use it sometimes to make his time alone more pleasurable, and he was not sure if and how he would apply it now, but it wasn’t bad to have it out. Looking back at Lyndon, he found that he had undressed fully and sat on the bed just in the right way to block Asoza’s view on his cock with his arm. Asoza did not wish him to feel timid, but he thought it was sweet nonetheless, as was the adulatory look he was giving Asoza’s own naked form.

“So, are you ready to give up Raha’s blessing?” he asked, just to be sure, as he sat down before his king.

“Thankfully, there are a lot of other gods, and some are clearly working in my favour today.”

Lyndon kissed his shoulder, just where he had massaged it today. Such a small gesture, but it chased a lightning bolt through Asoza’s body. He sat back as Lyndon dragged his lips down over his chest, lapping at his nipple, his hands resting on his thighs. He was distracted from his slow explorations briefly as his gaze followed the trajectory of Asoza’s tattoos, swirling down to the junction between his legs and even down the length of his cock.

“I never knew your markings were so numerous. But you told me about it once… ‘The sky coming down from above on the head, face and shoulders, the earth growing up from the feet through the legs, and the flames alight within the middle where the spirit sits.’” Lyndon pulled his fingers down into the tightly curled black hair between his legs that covered the ends of a dark line on his skin, palm brushing over Asoza’s hard cock. “So this is fire?”

Asoza had to laugh.

“Blazing, yes,” he answered, grabbing the back of Lyndon’s head to kiss him.

He pulled Lyndon into his lap and after an initial moment of stiffness, his king allowed himself to lean into the touch, skin on skin in every inch. Asoza reached down to grab Lyndon’s cock, giving it a few experimental strokes. He had a nice one, thick and of the perfect length to treat with his mouth, for if they were too long Asoza did not much like swallowing them down. He would have to try it out soon, but for now he enjoyed Lyndon’s tongue in his mouth more.

“What would you like to try out, Your Highness?” he asked, when Lyndon came up to gasp air.

“Everything at once,” Lyndon murmured, kissing Asoza’s ear. He shifted his thigh against Asoza’s hard length again. “I think I... would like to take you into me. To see if I could. I have always wondered – perhaps in too much detail.” He smiled slightly. “And before I impose this experiment on you, I would rather see if I think it hurts too much.”

Asoza had at times allowed lovers to take him and knew it was not very painful if the men were halfway skilled, but it amused him that Lyndon was apparently as prudent and thorough in bed as he was ruling his kingdom, and he knew he was stubborn enough that he would not budge from his approach, either. Besides, Asoza was not going to dissuade him from something he himself wanted so badly.

“Very well, I will show you so you can make your own judgement.”

He grabbed the bottle and uncorked it under Lyndon’s attentive gaze, dripping oil onto his fingers. While he handed the bottle to Lyndon to close it up, he urged him to lift his backside off his thighs a little. His ass was nice and firm and round, and with his dry hand, Asoza grabbed one cheek, quite pleased to finally get to play with him in this manner, pulling it aside to give himself some room to drag a slippery finger down the middle and over Lyndon’s entrance. He tensed, but Asoza had expected it and did not try to push into him yet, instead ensnaring the king into another kiss, holding him close enough that he could feel the touch of Lyndon’s cock against his stomach. Only when Lyndon was properly preoccupied with Asoza’s mouth did he slip his finger into the tight warmth of his body.

A stuttering breath was released against his lips, and again he could feel the muscles snap tight, but Lyndon relaxed slowly with a deep breath.

“Oh, that’s not so bad,” he murmured.

“Not the highest compliment a lover hopes for,” Asoza pointed out.

Lyndon ducked his head to kiss his neck, his chuckle a soft puff of air against Asoza’s skin.

Leaning back against the wall, Asoza allowed Lyndon to sink forward against his body, draped over him more comfortably than if he had to hold his weight on his knees. It also had the benefit of leaving their bodies pressed together, cocks trapped between them, a pleasant, light friction with every twitch and movement. It felt warm and lazy, combined with the slow movement of his finger inside Lyndon and his other hand teasing his side, and his king smiled contently at him.

When there was no resistance left, he teased a second finger alongside the other. He had large, callous hands, and even two fingers came to quite some girth, but this time Lyndon was expecting it, staying slack and wordlessly begging for the distraction of a kiss by leaning up to nuzzle against his cheek. Asoza enjoyed the rough drag of his beard against his skin, indulging him gladly while he pushed up.

Lyndon sat up straight with a small noise of surprise and Asoza froze.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, that just felt… very intense.”

Slowly, Asoza moved his fingers, noting that he had happened on the small, firm node inside Lyndon. He must have thrust right against it. Grinning, he urged him to lie against him again and began messaging the spot with the pads of his fingers.

“Oh my gods…”

Lyndon shuddered, head to toe. Not all men Asoza had known had such a forceful reaction to this treatment, but it seemed the king was sensitive in that regard. He dragged the movement, slow and steady, then put pressure on the point, crooked his fingers. Every tiny change of position shook Lyndon’s body like a quake. He’d stopped caressing Asoza, holding on to his shoulders instead.

“Good?” Asoza asked, eventually, pulling back a little to give him a moment to breathe.

Lyndon only just managed to nod his head before Asoza resumed his attack, and his king collapsed against his chest with a strangled moan that turned into a breathless laugh.

“Mercy,” he gasped, “please. You’ve teased me enough, Sir.”

“Ah, but this is fun…”

Lyndon gave him a hard kiss and sat back, enveloping Asoza’s cock in his fist.

“You won’t make me beg, will you?”

The words, all sweet hope, were like a spell on Asoza.

“You are not making your case well, Your Highness,” Asoza answered in a low voice. “Not tonight, I won’t, no. Maybe another time…”

Slowly, he pulled out his fingers and grabbed the bottle again. Quick to understand, Lyndon raised his hips, waiting for him to slick himself up. He did still seem a little worried looking down between them and Asoza gently stroked the nape of his neck as he positioned himself against his hole.

As Lyndon lowered himself, the resistance was back, and Asoza could see the tension in the muscles of his stomach, his shoulders, his thighs. Lyndon winced, pulling away.

“I apologise…”

“We have all night,” Asoza reminded him, cutting him short.

He hugged him around the shoulders and gently lowered him onto the bed. Lyndon’s hair laid wild around him on the sheet. He was flushed down to the chest, and he had possibly never been more beautiful.

“This is easier, perhaps,” he murmured, gripping one of Lyndon’s legs and curling it up. Lyndon, fast on the uptake as usual, put the other over his shoulder. Asoza could not resist getting distracted briefly to kiss his knee before he pushed up against him again.

Lyndon was still tight, but he took a few steadying breaths and then locked his gaze with Asoza. Though to be inside him, finally, after all these years, was a dream come true, Asoza’s joy was hampered by the pain he could read in the lines of Lyndon’s face. He stopped, but Lyndon reached out to touch his face, gently brushing it with his fingers.

“Go on,” he ordered.

Asoza gave him another moment to adjust and then pushed on, a little more forcefully this time, to finally bring their bodies flush together. Lyndon groaned. Asoza thought he might be set aflame by the heat coiling in his middle, and it took all his self-control not to start thrusting into Lyndon; but with a look at Lyndon’s vivid green eyes, it suddenly wasn’t very difficult at all.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little, but… I like the feeling of – I like knowing it’s you inside me, Sir Asoza.”

Overcome once more with some emotion that would be too much to put in words now, he nodded his head. Gently, he lowered Lyndon’s legs again and pulled him up into his lap, how they had sat before. Lyndon surged forward to kiss him.

Rocking up into his body became easier when Lyndon pushed himself up on his knees and began meeting him. He could not find the rhythm and seemed unsteady at first, but when Asoza took him by the hips and guided them gently towards his thrusts, he grew bolder under his silent instructions. The sensation was amazing, but Asoza was mostly drawn in by the sight of his king moving in his lap, eyes half-closed and mouth half-open.

He lifted one hand, confident Lyndon could go on by himself, to push between their bodies and fist his cock. To his surprise, Lyndon came almost that same moment, with a startled little groan of his name, his movements stopping suddenly, then faltering. Smiling, Asoza looked at the shock written in Lyndon’s face. It was easy to forget that Lyndon was inexperienced, unused to the touch of another, when Asoza could think of no better time he’d ever had sleeping with someone.

Asoza kissed him on the mouth before he pulled him tighter into his arms and fucked into him as Lyndon clung on to his arms. It was this possessive gesture that had Asoza pushed over the peak in a heartbeat, coming inside his king.

He scooted a little backwards to lean against the wall again, Lyndon limp in his arms. It was some time before he lifted his head to smile at Asoza. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Asoza asked, playfully scolding, flicking Lyndon’s hair.

To his surprise, Lyndon’s smile turned melancholy. He shifted back a little in his lap to look him in the eye.

“As I said, I thought you did not see me in this way. But also, in truth, what can I give you, Sir Asoza? If I could have had it my way, you’d have been my consort twenty years ago, and you’d have had the kingdom at your feet. But men cannot wed men, and all my other favours, gold and titles and lands, I could bestow on you without claiming you for me. Making them conditional would have been ill-done, for you are a great knight and deserved them for your service. Away from me, you could have had a family, a marriage.”

“I have never had need of any of these things, Your Highness, nor of a kingdom. Only of you.”

Lyndon knocked their foreheads together, eyes closed, and Asoza hugged him tight enough to squeeze the air out of his lungs.

-

When they had returned to Oldstone Keep after their stay in Linleigh Hall and Lyndon was at once drawn away by a messenger before he had even gotten properly off the horse, it felt for a few hours as if Asoza had just woken up to a cold day from a pleasant dream. The hours spent sprawled out in his bed, teasing and exploring and following every whim of curiosity and lust, the long baths in the springs, the rides out into the country side, close enough to bump shoulders and steal kisses, those were just the things he used to fantasise about without much hope for ever seeing them come true. Then Lyndon placed a quick kiss on his lips as they stood alone in his chambers collecting maps for a meeting with the harbourmaster, and Asoza spent the next week straight smiling like a fool as reality set in.

They were busy as always at court, but as their long friendship allowed them to take time for themselves in privacy without anyone raising a brow, they had ways to distract themselves, too. Lyndon seemed revived to him, and for his pride Asoza would assume it was not just the hot springs of the Blossom Valley which had lightened his mood. On the second evening after their arrival, Lyndon took him aside to reveal an idea to make the next council session bearable, too.

“I went through my arguments and with one more strong voice or two, I think I could make a good enough case to pull the rest of the council to my side and have this done without anyone but Rynevale feeling slighted. The rest didn’t seem married to the suggestion, anyway.”

“How about Lady Aston?” Asoza said, after a moment’s contemplation.

“She is not easily swayed by anyone and she wants those pirates dead badly. You have an idea?”

Asoza smiled.

-

The day of the meeting, and angry Lord Walton Rynevale found his idea of appointing buccaneers overruled by the king’s proposal of hiring sailors from Utaya. Rynevale thought Lady Aston, head of the merchant’s guild, on his side, a resolute woman who had inherited the space by sheer force of will after the death of her husband, as she was usually quite careful in her decisions and did not like experiments, and buccaneers were a known way to handle pirate plagues. However, she was friendly with Omole Batunde, the ambassador from Utaya, who had been one of the first to pay his respects to her when her leadership was still in question. Asoza, who knew this, had taken Omole aside and impressed on him the idea to explain to her the manifold advantages of an influx of skilled seamen and seawomen from their home country, who might even be able open new trade routes down south along the shoreline – after skilfully ridding Athelney of pirates, of course. This would have left Rynevale with Lord Seward Bourne, who usually parroted all his decisions, but Lyndon had had supper with him and, as he later told Asoza, had let the conversation drift to talking of Marcia’s troubles with their jobless buccaneers raiding their own haven towns. Bourne’s lands were all on the coast, and fear was greater than is loyalty to Rynevale.

“I thought Lord Rynevale’s head would burst, it was so red by the end,” Lyndon said quietly, as they walked through a narrow hallway towards the palace gardens.

Asoza could barely contain his laughter and saw Lyndon’s lips twitching, too.

“I fear we will have to make up for that, Your Highness,” Asoza cautioned, if still grinning.

“I know, I know. Leave it to me. I will have him over and think of some trifle that I will tell him I absolutely need his erudite advice with,” Lyndon said with a sigh. “But let us enjoy the victory for now.”

“Happily. Perhaps we can do so in private.”

Throwing a smile over his shoulder, Lyndon bid Asoza to follow with a gesture; and follow his king he did, as he always had and always would.


End file.
